STREETLY,
STAFFORDSHIRE MEMORIES
(1936
- 1961)
A WALK UP
THE CHESTER ROAD
(August 1944)
2.
The Parson & Clerk
by Chris Myers
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2.
The Parson & Clerk
We walk out of the
Park
through the little gate. It doesn't
close itself after us, like it used
to. I think the spring is broken. A
lot of little things like that are
broken, these days, and don't get
mended. I expect the bloke whose job
it is to do this sort of thing is
away somewhere, probably fighting
Jerry or the Japs. We pull it to
behind us and latch it.
Before we move
off, I look across the road at the
Parson and Clerk
pub. This is it - but looking at it from the other
direction. There is something behind the main
building, by the car park, which I've
seen before and interests me.
It's round or oval and
is made mainly of thick pieces of timber and it has
a thatched roof over the top of it. There are two
openings opposite each other so that people can walk
into it and stand out of the rain. All around the
inside, except where the openings are, there is this
sort of wide shelf, about as high up as my chin.
(Remember that I'm eight and so not all that tall!)
Above the shelf it is all open, with no windows.
Just the upright chunks of wood which support the
roof. I think that the idea of it is that people can
stand there on a summer's evening, drink their pints
in the fresh air and have somewhere to put the
glasses down and have a good time without getting
wet if it starts to rain. They can have their kids
there too, because we aren't allowed inside the pub,
as you know. I think it must be super if the weather
is warm and people start to get a bit tipsy and
jolly. It's probably quite cosy. And friendly.
I try and
visualise a summer's evening over there, prewar. A
Sunday, perhaps. There will be masses of cars
parked, Morris 8s, Austins 10s, Ford Prefects (like
Dad has). And, here and there, swankier cars,
Armstrong Siddeleys, Rovers, SS Jaguars with long,
gleaming bonnets and massive headlamps. The odd MG
two-seater or even a little three-wheeled Morgan. It
is always the big American cars which interest me
the most. Perhaps there are one or two there as
well. Buicks, Packards, Chryslers. I once had a good
look at a two-seater Lincoln Zephyr. Brown seats but
they were really one bench seat and so three people
could have sat on it. I always look at the
speedometer and this one went up to 120 m.p.h. (It
wasn't in the car park here, though, this one was
parked outside
Cutler's Garage,
by the Hardwick Arms). I was very pleased to see it
because I have a pre-war Dinky Toy model of one.
When you stick your nose through the open window of
a car like that, and they are all the same, there's
always a lovely smell. Of course I did that to the
Lincoln because the driver's window was down. I said
to Dad that I thought it smelt of speed, like all
the others. No, he said, it's the leather. But I
still think that it's speed that they smell of. And
it helps when there is a whiff of petrol as well.
All this time,
the owners of these cars, and their families, are
either inside the pub or in this outside shelter
having a final pint or a gin and orange before
carrying on back to their homes in the Birmingham
suburbs, in Erdington or Quinton or Harborne. They
have all had a good day out, I expect. On Cannock
Chase or further away, at the seaside at Rhyl or
Barmouth or in the Welsh mountains. The cars are
resting, quiet, waiting for their master to come
back. Just an occasional tick or crack or creak as
they cool down after their journeys. And then, much
later, not long after closing time, and after the
landlord has rung a bell and shouted out "Time,
gentlemen, please" and the last pints have been
drained, there will be a slamming of doors, shouts
of cheerio, the cars revving up and finally pulling
out on to the Chester Road or
Sutton Oak Road
and they will all be gone. The car park will be
empty.
As it is now. As
is the funny shelter thing. There is no one about.
It's always like this now. Including at weekends. I
wonder where all those cars have gone. And the
people who used to have a nice day out in them.
I know the Parson
and Clerk was once my dad's favourite pub. What they
call "his local". A long time ago, possibly even
before I was born, Dad had a bit of a problem there.
The landlady accused him of bumping into her and
causing her to spill her drink. She wasn’t very
polite about it, even though he was a regular
customer. Dad wasn’t happy about this at all but
offered to buy her another one. But he also said
“and if you accept that offer I shall never step
foot in this pub again”. The landlady took the drink
and Dad took his business to the
Hardwick Arms
where it still is and will probably stay for as long
as he lives. Dad is a very nice man but he expects
other people to behave the same way. That’s the
story I was told and I know that Dad will keep to
what he said.
And that's why Graham will probably never meet
up with him there.
Anyway, the Hardwick probably suited them both much
better. It’s where a lot of their Home Guard pals
used to go for a pint and to discuss tactics. They
still do, even though Graham has been away for so
long now and some of the other younger men have been
called up into the Army or RAF themselves. The
friends who still meet up are mainly older blokes,
like Dad himself or like
Mr Naylor
or Mr Broomhead
who live at the bottom of
Hardwick Road.
They are in the same platoon as Dad at
Little Aston Hall.
Not in the big house itself but in the stables. Our
local bobby, Mr
Cope, goes to that
pub as well. He only has to walk across Hardwick
Road from his front door to get to it. And he can
leave his bike behind, for once. I expect there are
a lot of others. I have never been inside, of
course. Children aren’t allowed. You have to sit
outside and wait - with a glass of lemonade and a
packet of crisps, if you are lucky. And so I have
never been in the Parson and Clerk either and
probably never will. I know the outside well enough.
I do wonder what it looks like inside, though.
We haven't got very far with our walk up the
Chester Road, have we? We must really get on.
And we will. Next time. Towards my home at the top
of the hill. Which Mum and Dad decided to call
"Windyridge" when
they first moved in before I was born.
Please see INDEX page for
main acknowledgements.
(On this page, grateful
acknowledgement is also made to the unknown source
of the image showing:
The Parson & Clerk
This family
and local history
page is hosted by
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
(The Home Guard of Great Britain, 1940-1944)
All text and images are,
unless otherwise stated, © The Myers Family 2022
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INDEX
Home Guard of
Great Britain
website |
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INDEX
Streetly and Family Memories
1936-61
|
L8B
April 2022, updated October 2024
